


Voiceless

by Misgel



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, Invasion, Kidnapping, Slavery, Torture, dragonformers, poor Bumblebee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misgel/pseuds/Misgel
Summary: When the Dragon Lord Megatron and his Decepticons successfully invade Praxus, he is confident that he has achieved total victory. That is until a young, brave youngling speaks out. A lesson of obedience must be taught
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Voiceless

The night was illuminated by the light of crimson fire. The flames rose high into the air, dancing to the sound of its own deadly melody, composed of ferocious roars and splintering wood. It ate away at the massive trees, vaporizing the lush green leaves and reducing the broad trunks into ash.

It was _beautiful._

Even though he stood a safe distance, Megatron could still feel the intensity of the heat slapping against his thick silver hide. The great dragon could see more infernos of light spreading through the darkness as his followers proceeded to burn down the whole forest. Against the glare, Megatron could only make out the silhouettes of the buildings that filled the upper canopy. Smoke billowed out of windows of hollowed out trees.

Rather constructing a city of stone or burrowing into the mountains, the dragons that lived here made their homes among the guarding forest, which had stood tall since the time of the Primes. There would be nothing left, after tonight.

Over the bellows of the flame, Megatron could hear the orchestra of war. The vicious roars and screeches of dragons, the moans and screams of death, and the wails and howls of loss. It would not be much longer now. And Praxus would be theirs.

Megatron was brought out of his thoughts when there was a flap of leathery wings beside him and a gust of wind sent dust and ash into the air. The leader of the Deceptions turned to his second-in-command.

Starscream’s silver hide shined underneath the light of the flames. His scales along his back were a dark, dull shade while his underbelly was pale—typical shading for a hunter of the skies. There were black markings along the dragon’s hide, running down his neck and his flank, perfect for blending into the shadows. The dark tone of his body was interrupted the long, red spines running down his back and his malicious crimson optics. 

Broad black wings, sharp and angular for the superior aerobatics that the Vosians were so renowned for, folded against Starscream’s back. His lips curled into a sneer to reveal a row of sharpened fangs, glinting in the firelight and his wicked long claws dug into the soft ground.

“We have secured a parameter around the city,” Starscream reported dutifully. “Our forces have received total control of the north and eastern portions of the city. Shockwave’s forces continue to push through the western district while General Strika’s troops are confronting heavy resistance in the south.”

Megatron hummed at the battle report, a sound that rumbled from deep within his chest.

“Casualties?”

It was a single word, but Starscream understood his meaning perfectly clear.

“We received some losses, though not significant. Commander Rampage has fallen in battle and Captain Dreadwing has been critically injured. To make up for it, we have terminated a great number of the natives’ forces. The battle will be over before the sun rises.”

“Their Dragon Lord?”

“Dead.”

Megatron nodded in approval. Good. Everything was going according to plan. Still, he had to be sure. Praxus was not without allies.

“Any sign of reinforcements?” the Decepticon leader asked.

“No,” Starscream assured. “Although some escaped, I have sent patrols to intercept them. We did manage to take prisoners. Soundwave has rounded them up by the Cliffs.”

A good choice. The Cliffs overlooked the city-state of Praxus. Although Megatron understood there were several religious temples built among the crags, it was relatively isolated. The Cliffs were far too steep to allow a quick escape and the Praxians’ wings were short and stubby, only good for gliding at best. Trapped between the colossal wall and their captors, the prisoners would have nowhere to go. 

Megatron could always rely on Soundwave.

“Are they in good condition?”

“We made sure only to take the young ones,” told Starscream. “Some are worse for the wear, but they will recover. Most are shaken.”

They had a right to be. Their world was being torn apart in front of them.

“I wish to speak with them myself,” Megatron announced.

Starscream offered no protest. Once the Dragon Lord made up his mind, there was no changing it. It wasn’t far, so they opted to go on pes, allowing them to observe their conquest.

Megatron was still trying to grasp the sheer size of the trees around them. Each was three wingspans in diameter, _at least_. They climbed so high into the sky that one had to crane their neck back just to see the top, if they were lucky. The upper branches came together to form a lush green sky. Debris from the gigantic trees fell back to the forest floor, coating the moist, soft ground. The air was warm and humid, but not suffocating.

It was a sharp contrast to the scorching, dry climate of the desert.

The Dragon Lord could see why Praxus had avoided being sieged for so long. The Cliffs in the north provided a natural barrier while the thick forest surrounding the city made it difficult for an army to march through. The natives would know of its arrival long before any battle could come to fruition. The canopy above prevented any sort of aerial assault—Starscream and his flyers had to fight their way through the branches and even now it blocked Megatron from taking to the skies. And considering Praxus was practically surrounded by allies, there was only one path to take.

But one path was all Megatron needed.

As the pair of dragons stalked through the city, the destruction of their attack became more evident. Blood soaked the ground, staining their pedes. Fallen husks covered the ground, either mutilated or still intact, left alone or thrown in piles. Megatron and Starscream had to weave through the crumbling ruins and mountains of rubble. Somehow an entire tree had fallen, forming a towering wall cutting through the heart of the battleground. It took some time for the Decepticons to move around it.

Megatron was awarded for the extra effort when they finally arrived at the Cliffs. The tree line thinned here, so there were more buildings among the ground rather than up in the branches. The Decepticon lord noticed many of them were burned down.

In their place were lean, purple-scaled dragons. Their helms were a bone-white, almost looking like the flesh had been peeled back from their skulls. Their crimson optics gleamed menacingly in the darkness.

The group of dragons looked frighteningly similar, even if they hailed from the same clan. The only difference what some were blessed with wings while some had only spines along their back. Eradicons and Vehicons, they were called, respectively. Megatron’s other troops had also taken to calling them collectively as simply “drones.” 

The dragons bowed their helms respectfully as their Dragon Lord stalked by, ensuring no one stood higher than him. Even then, their optics never left the group of little dragons pushed up against the cold rocks. Just like Starscream had described, the captured Praxians were corralled into a tight circle surrounded by their captors.

Many of them were curled in tight, pitiful balls, pressing against each other as much as physically possible. Many were visibly trembling. Whimpers and sniffles drifted through the air, along with fearful whines and whispered, half-hearted assurances. Several pairs of blue optics turned to Megatron as he approached, though none dared to look into his hellish gaze.

“Such pathetic creatures,” Starscream sneered, looking over the group.

“Careful with your words, Starscream,” Megatron rumbled. “For they will carry the future of our cause.”

The Vosian Dragon Lord harrumphed, obviously not convinced. Suddenly the shadows beside them shifted and Megatron turned to a familiar figure.

“Ah, Soundwave,” he greeted.

The dragon’s dark, bluish scales blended almost perfectly in the darkness. His underbelly was a deep purple, with the same color stripes running along his body. His whip-like tail ended in a trident, the outer prongs as sharp as blades while the center one still crackled with electricity. His black wings were neatly tucked along his back and dark spikes went along his spinal strut. His helm was the same deep black, interrupted by his vibrant violet optics. A silver band wrapped around Soundwave’s long, slender neck, with the emblem of a dragon curled in sleep resting on his chest.

The third-in-command’s steps were quiet as he stalked towards Megatron, humbly bowing his helm in greeting.

“Have there been any complications?” the Decepticon leader asked.

Soundwave shook his helm.

The prisoners were behaving as well as they could be.

Megatron hummed and moved forward. Well aware of the number of gazes trained on him, he kept his stride confident and measured. He was in control here.

The Dragon Lord found a boulder just large enough to hold his weight that overlooked the prisoners. He effortlessly climbed onto it, standing tall and proud like a regal king. The simple act had already gained much of his audience’s attention. Megatron raised his booming voice to echo across the air.

“Praxians!”

Instantly every helm turned in his direction, just as he demanded. After all, the Lord of the Decepticon’s word was absolute. They would learn that soon.

“I know many of you have questions: Who am I? What is happening? Why is this happening? What will become of you? I am Megatron, Dragon Lord of Kaon, the sole heir of King Galvatron.”

Instantly there a sharp tension reverberated through the air, the little Praxians whimpering at the name of the evil king they only heard in bedtime stories. Before, they only had to fear the Decepticons invading their nightmares. Never their homes. 

“You have lived in comfort and leisure—feasting off the hunt that your elders have brought to you and sleeping in warm dens with a full belly. But we Decepticons hail from the Badlands—a cruel, unforgiving land west of your forest. Every day is a struggle to survive. There is hardly any food or water, and there are those that become so hungry that they do not have the strength to stand. The cold nights offer no warmth and the fires do so little. Carriers bury their hatchlings before they can even leave the nest. Elders die from wretched, painful plagues. We are forced to fight one another, simply for the right to live.”

At that, Megatron expanded his broad wingspan. Not threateningly, just enough for his audience to see the tears littering the purple membrane of his wings. Although he was the spawn of a King, that did not exempt him from the harsh ways of the Badlands.

“But soon those days will be no more. For too long, the Primes have ruled Kingdom of the Vale, exiling anyone that refused to bow in prayer to Primus. But now the lineage of the Primes is gone, and a new King must fill the void left behind. I vow to take that mantle.”

Automatically the air was filled with harsh whispering, Praxians turning to each other as if to gossip about the neighbor’s scandal. Megatron allowed it, but only for a few moments as not to lose their attention.

“I will make it my sworn duty to reunite the Kingdoms, that have lived divided for thousands of years. And I swear to you, under my rule, no clan will go hungry, no clan will be victim of a treatable disease, and no clan will have to mourn the loss of their younglings. The sun will rise upon a new Age of the Dragon! An age in which all are _one_!”

At his promise, Megatron’s voice rose into a zealous bellow. The attending Decepticons _roared_ in response. Some pounded their pedes or their tail on the ground in applause. Looking over the prisoners, the Dragon Lord saw their fearful gazes had morphed into confusion. Some had even become interested and Megatron dared to call others _fascinated_. Realizing he officially had their audios, he went on to conclude his speech.

“But such a great task cannot be done alone. We need _your_ help, the young blood of Praxus, to make this dream a reality. For your generation will be the first to live in our new world, one that will rise from the ashes of the old. Praxus is gone now.” Megatron extended a wing, gesturing to the fires that still raged on behind him. “But we will be your home now. The Decepticons will be your family. We will take you under our wing, teach you our ways. You will learn how to serve our cause.

“Some of you will work in the mines, to unearth the metal that will become our armor and the priceless gems that will buy us the future. Some of you will be hunters, that will patrol the vast plains of the Badlands and return with the meat that will feed with your brothers and sisters. And some of you will become great warriors. Freedom fighters, that will spread our words far and wide, to bring peace to the Kingdoms once and for all! _Peace_ through _tyranny_!”

At his declaration, Megatron raised himself onto his haunches to stand almost upright. He spread his wings as wide as they allowed, as if to embrace every single one of his new recruits.

“ _NO_!”

That was not the response Megaton expected to hear. He blinked in surprise and he faintly heard shocked gasps and annoyed growls.

“You’re a liar and murderer!” a brave voice drifted over the crowd. “You’re not fit to rule—GAH!”

The insult was cut off by a cry of pain. Megatron noticed a couple Vehicons had launched forward, likely apprehending the insolent youngling. There were sounds of struggle—scales striking scales along with hisses and growls. The prisoners shifted uneasily, mostly moving away from the violent commotion.

“Stop!” Megatron barked and the sounds immediately ceased. “Let me see this young dragon that wishes to speak his mind.”

At his order, the pair of drones stepped forward, half-dragging, half-carrying a Praxian between them. He was small, even by the natives’ standards. His scales were a bright yellow, interrupted by black stripes that ran along his flanks. Unlike most dragons, his ventral scales were a dark gray, almost black. A pair of little Praxian wings protruded from his back, made of a pale, thin membrane.

They were so unproportionable with the rest of his body it was almost comical, totally unfit for flight. The wings did help with detecting changes in the atmosphere, though, especially moisture and shifts in the wind, ideal for hunting and scouting. They even aided in long leaps, allowing Praxians to glide from one branch to another. It explained how they could navigate their forest home so easily.

The Praxian’s captors unceremoniously dropped him on the ground in front of Megatron. When the youngling tried to rise, one Vehicon planted her pedes between his wings, pinning him to the ground. Even then, electric-blue optics glared up at the Dragon Lord. Tiny, underdeveloped fangs flashed in his direction.

Megatron chuckled at the challenge.

“Such _fire_ ,” he purred. “Tell me, little one, what is your name?”

The young Praxian only growled in response. The Vehicon got impatient.

“Answer your rightful Lord and Master, runt!” she snapped.

Before Megatron could stop her, the drone’s long claws dug into the little one’s back, drawing crimson blood. There were frightful whimpers in response, but they were drowned out by a panicked shout.

“ _Bumblebee_!”

Suddenly a bright figure darted forth from the crowd. Before the Praxian could come to his comrade’s aid, the second Vehicon barreled into him. He could only let out a screech of protest as he was dragged to the ground.

The youngling was only slightly larger than the yellow one. His scales were a glaring white, an unfortunate color for a hunter, made worse by the bright blue markings along his body. His horns were a flashy red, along with the rest of his spines. His tiny white wings were spattered with crimson spots. The only thing that offered him any sort of camouflage was his light grey belly.

“Smokescreen!” the yellow Praxian cried out at the newcomer, “What are you doing?!”

“I won’t let them hurt you!” his companion wailed, wiggling against his captor in an unsuccessful attempt to free himself.

“Although this is all rather touching, your attempt is unnecessary,” Megatron spoke, interrupting the scene. “No more blood needs to be spilled. Vehicon, please, be easy on him.”

Although his tone was light, the Dragon Lord’s stare was hard. The femme stiffened at his glare and promptly retracted her claws. Megatron then dropped down from his perch, the ground trembling underneath his great weight. The yellow Praxian refused to be intimidated, glaring hatefully at the Decepticon leader.

“Bumblebee, did that I hear that right?” Megatron asked him gently, then added with a mocking tone, “You are named after a _bug_?”

Several Decepticons snickered at his jest; Starscream’s cackle was the loudest of all. The Dragon Lord supposed it wasn’t completely surprising. Considering they built their homes in trees, Praxians had a special connection with nature. It made sense they would name their young after the creatures of the forest. Still, even they had to realize that naming a mighty dragon—a runt or not—after such an insignificant insect was an insult.

“And you are named after a _monster_ ,” Bumblebee retorted without missing a beat. “Galvatron _murdered_ Zeta Prime! He destroyed Iacon!”

So it seemed the youngling was educated. Good. Megatron would need intelligent soldiers among his ranks. However, the Decepticon leader was debating to indoctrinate the dragon or simply squash him here and now.

“In retaliation of the destruction of Helex and the sanctions he placed on our people,” Megatron explained patiently. “Your history is skewed, young one. The Primes are not without fault.”

“Then why are you here? Praxians are peaceful dragons, yet you attacked _us_! And now you expect us to swear featly to you even as you burn our homes to the ground and slaughter our elders!”

“The Praxians sided with Iacon during the Great War. I only wish to bring justice to those whose lives were lost.”

“You call this _justice_?!”

“ _Indeed_ ,” Megatron confirmed, stepping forward and craning his neck down to meet the prisoner optic to optic. Bumblebee twitched when the gigantic dragon’s hot breath blew onto his snout, but he did not back down.

“You’re _mad_!”

“Bumblebee, please be quiet,” the white Praxian, Smokescreen, whispered pitifully.

“You should listen to him, little one,” Megatron advised. “After all, what can a harmless little bee like you—”

The Dragon Lord didn’t even have a chance to finish his sentence when suddenly Bumblebee snapped his jaws with a vicious snarl and fangs closed around Megatron’s ankle. It was hardly painful, but the little bite was enough to send him reeling back with surprise.

“I can _sting_!”

Immediately Bumblebee paid for his attack when the Vehicon dug her own fangs into the base of his wing—a rather sensitive spot. Sure enough, the Praxian cried out in pain.

This one had bearings. Megatron couldn’t remember the last time someone had so blatantly disrespected him—never mind attacked him. True to Bumblebee’s words, the wound stung as little beads of blood trickled out.

He would have made a fine warrior, if he wasn’t so fragging _small_. A large dragon could easy bat him aside or use his husk as a chew toy. That would not do. Still, Bumblebee’s antics were quite amusing. Megatron let out a bellowing laugh, which made several Praxians and Decepticon start.

“You are a spirited one, aren’t you?” the Dragon Lord purred. “You will make a _fine_ Decepticon.”

“I’m nothing like you!” Bumblebee spat. Obviously having a fully-grown dragon on his back did little to dampen his fire.

“You are right. I am a flyer and you are a grounder. I am the victor and you are the loser. I fight to protect my clan, while you only put your brethren in danger.”

Bumblebee blinked in confusion at that, only for his optics to widen in horror as Megatron stalked towards Smokescreen. The white dragon tried to shy away from the Dragon Lord, but the Vehicon kept him firmly in place.

“Leave him alone!” Bumeblebee protested then Megatron moved too close.

“You do not give orders here, _bug_.”

Just to prove his point, the Decepticon leader slammed a massive pes onto Smokescreen’s neck. The youngling’s cry was cut off as Megatron crushed his windpipe.

“Are you willing to hurt your friends, all for your stubborn pride?” the Dragon Lord questioned as he leaned more of his weight onto the prisoner.

Smokescreen started squirming again, letting out strangled sounds as he struggled to take air into his lungs.

“Stop! Stop!” Bumblebee cried, pushing against his own captor. “You’re hurting him!”

“ _You_ are hurting him, Bumblebee.”

The Praxian violently flinched. Whether it was because of his statement or how Megatron purred his name, the Dragon Lord wasn’t sure.

“N-no, I’m not… I _won’t_ ,” Bumblebee refused, but a tremor had invaded his voice.

“Hurry, young one,” Starscream urged, watching with unveiled amusement. “He’s going to need to breathe eventually.”

True enough, Smokescreen heaved another desperate gasp. His struggles became more violent, but the Vehicon and Megatron easily held him down. To give the defiant Praxian more encouragement, the Decepticon leader pressed down even more. Any more pressure, the fragile strut of Smokescreen’s neck would surely break.

Bumblebee began shaking his helm furiously. “I won’t! I won’t give in to you!”

“But I’m not asking for your submission,” Megatron retorted. “I am asking for your _loyalty_. Is it really worth Smokescreen’s life?”

Then just as quickly as it started, the white dragon’s fit started to lessen. His flapping wings only fluttered, his flailing limbs twitched, and his tail shook. His gasps turned into pitiful wheezing. Smokescreen’s blue optics began to roll into the back of his helm.

Megatron didn’t really want to kill the fragile thing, especially not in front of the new recruits, but a lesson of obedience must be taught. He was the Dragon Lord, and his word was final.

Bumblebee keened. His optics had become wide and fearful, welling up with tears. His finials had flattened onto his helm with distress. Apparently all it took was another’s life was to extinguish his fire.

Megatron was almost disappointed when Bumblebee cried, “I swear!”

“Swear what, my dear?” the Decepticon leader inquired, not lifting his pes.

“I swear featly to you! You have my loyalty, _please just stop_! **_Please_**!”

Megatron raised his pes. Instantly Smokescreen returned to life, sucking in a strained breath that only rewarded him with a hacking fit. The dragon ignored him as he sauntered back over to Bumblebee.

“Was that so hard?” he asked in a mocking tone.

The little Praxian was trembling, but Megatron wasn’t sure if it was in fear or shame or rage. Perhaps a combination. Then just as quickly as it appeared, that watery gaze vanished and that glare of hate returned.

“I may serve as your slave, but I will _never_ bow to you,” Bumblebee growled, his voice full of resolve.

“Hmm.”

Even after swearing his loyalty, the Praxian still had to have the last word. Defiant to the end. A quality Megatron quite enjoyed, but it would do no good if he wanted to rule all the Dragon Kingdoms.

“It’s a pity,” the tyrant sighed, “that I must silence your voice.”

Bumblebee squinted in puzzlement. He opened his maw to ask Megatron’s meaning, but he never got the chance to speak again.

Megatron lunged forward and his powerful jaws closed around Bumblebee’s throat…

…and a terrible, broken scream filled the air.


End file.
